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This morning snowed again. They were tiny, almost invisible snowflakes but they were still there. Any hope of a real spring gets crashed every time. Like Finnish doctors, seasons are skittish. After so much time spent indoors I should mind more than I actually do, but I have come to appreciate this kind of weather. I’d love some sun, sure, but still, grey sky and rain fit my melancholic mood of the moment. I may be born in Sicily but it seems like I can keep up with cold and ice just fine. My mentor says it’s because I am affected by the Northern spirit, and it’s not meant as a compliment. Truth is I have always craved for forests, snow, a landscape as far away as possible from my homeland. My imagination was fueled by tales of far away imaginary lands, ice palaces, magic crystals, archers and berserk warriors, Ludwig II and Mitteleuropa, royal families and gold, decadence and metaphysical horrors. Finland is nothing like my childhood fantasies, but I still love it. And just to prove my mentor wrong, a song that I have been listening to obsessively in the last few hours, a piece of home, and a homage to my Mediterranean roots.

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